


Tin-Hatted Men, Among Ash Heaps and Millionaires

by meowvelous



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowvelous/pseuds/meowvelous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in our bedroom, after the war, the path back to us is a long one (A short piece set in a "Great Gatsby" AU, with Sirius taking the role of the titular character)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tin-Hatted Men, Among Ash Heaps and Millionaires

**Author's Note:**

> This is a touched up piece that I posted on my ff.net account (The Walker of Dreams) a few years ago. I still have a fondness of it, so I brushed off the dust and posted it here. It takes the basic premise of Fitzgerald's novel (a reclusive millionaire who throws lavish parties he doesn't enjoy, while ignoring his trauma from the war) but isn't much like it beyond that.
> 
> Not Brit-picked, but technically written from an American (well, Canadian pretending to be American) narrative voice.
> 
> Title is adapted from the self-same song by Stars.

They come that night, flocking as they always do to the glittering mansion, some eager to catch the glimpse of the heir to the Black family, the Brit who fought in the war for the Queen and then came to America, the very single Sirius Black. Black was rarely spotted without his close friend, Remus Lupin.

Of course others are just there for the party; to be seen with the right people, to catch a taste of glamour, or perhaps a drop of liquor in an otherwise dry country. Prohibition probably created more alcoholics than it saved, but such was the law.

Whatever the case, Sirius often thinks to himself they’re definitely not the sort that his mother would approve of. Maybe that’s why he relishes opening up his home to them, as they wander through the halls and gawk at the portraits of the Blacks-who-came-before.

(Sirius only brought the paintings with him because he planned to burn them, but Remus talked him out of it, saying it saved them the hassle of buying new paintings to put on the walls)

(Sometimes, Sirius gets the feeling Remus doesn’t like living in a mansion very much. Then again, Remus doesn’t like the parties either, but neither thing is going to change anytime soon.)

As he welcomes a new arrival (a pretty brunette hanging off the arm of a man who’s definitely not her husband), Sirius thinks that James would laugh himself silly at that woman’s hat. What was it with women and hats, which made them think feathers would make a good addition to an otherwise perfectly fine hat?

…But then he remembers James is dead, Lily too, because a stupid bomb had to fall on their pretty little house, the house that James had spent so long saving up for and Harry only survived because he’d been sent away to relatives in the country. And now Harry was in boarding school, because having the boy around was like having the ghosts of Lily and James haunting the house, and neither Sirius nor Remus could stand it.

Suddenly, Sirius doesn’t blame Remus for hiding away during the parties. He excuses himself from a conversation about sports that he’d somehow been included in, and leaves the front hall. Wandering by the dining room, Sirius realizes some woman is behind the piano, crooning how there was someone she was longing to see, and he wonders how someone could be that drunk so early in the evening. He isn’t exactly in any position to cast stones, however, and so he leaves her to it.

He makes his way up the grand staircase, following it as it winds around the grandiose chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Hosts should descend, not ascend, these stairs, but Sirius doesn’t care about being a good host at the moment.

The noise of the party grows quieter as he nears the master bedroom. Inside, it’s nearly silent, save of the sound of a page turning. Remus is on the window-seat, his favourite spot because it gives him a view of the water and the sky. It was specifically made for him; it’s wide and there’s no other furniture near it.

Remus was always a man satisfied to move at his own pace, and to occupy his own space, be it with others or not. But after spending months – years – crammed shoulder to shoulder with fellow troops in the mud of the trenches, the need for his own space became excruciatingly important.

Sometimes, Sirius thinks they only share the room because the bed, the primary focal point in the otherwise largely empty space, allowed for more than enough space for the two of them when they slept.

As Sirius gets closer to the window, he notices the bags under Remus eyes, and how tired the other man looks. Then again, Sirius is probably no better off. Neither of them is getting much sleep these days, because of the nightmares and the flashbacks.

It’s a comfort to wake up in the middle of the night to a warm body, not a cold dead one. And sometimes when neither of them can sleep, they lie on the beach, listening to the waves and the beat of their hearts; to drown out the noise of artillery shells and machine guns in their heads.

“Reading again?” Sirius asks, his voice carrying easily across the quiet room. It’s an inane observation, and the quirk of Remus’ eyebrows shows his feelings about it.

Instead, Remus chooses to say, “Entertaining again?” without his eyes leaving the page.

“Indeed I am.” Sirius’ voice is more jovial than he feels, and when he receives a bland glance in reply, he deflates. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea.”

Hooking his foot around a chair that one of the maids mistakenly left near the window, Remus drags it towards Sirius’ general direction. It’s as much of an invitation as he is going to get.

Simple as the gesture may be, it’s far more than what Remus usually offered these days, and so Sirius gladly takes it. He sinks into the green, wingback chair and looks out at the water, instead of glancing towards Remus. There’s a light blinking in the distance, on the other shore, and Sirius thinks to himself that there’s far better ways to pass on messages.

Downstairs, away from them, the party hits its peak, and then descends from it. Liquor is consumed and expelled, more songs are sung, and there is, of course, dancing. A good time, it is agreed, is had by all. In the late night, leaning towards the morning, most of the guests manage to find their way out the front doors once more, or are otherwise escorted out by the staff. The front lawn is a stage for tearful goodbyes and other personal dramas.

All of this goes unobserved by the residents of the master bedroom, two young-old men. One is reading, and one watches the sea, and daybreak finds them there still.


End file.
